Bobby Gold Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

don't look like much to me," said Richie. The first words out of his mouth.
    Bobby said nothing, his eyes on Tommy.
    "Think?" said Tommy, smiling. "Tell that to Terry Doyle. You remember Terry? The middleweight champeen? He was up on a rape
     charge when Bad Bobby was there. Terry liked dark, young, good-looking fellas like Bobby here — and this was before Bobby
     was big like he is now. OP Ter' tried to help Bobby wash his back in the shower one day — him and a bunch a his pals. They
     say he felt like a fuckin' dishrag when they came for him. Sounded like a bag fulla chicken bones when they loaded what was
     left a Terry onto the fuckin' gurney - wasn't no bone over a foot long that wasn't busted. His head looked like a beach ball
     you let the air outta. You don't want to tangle with this guy, Richie. Just leave it at that. I got confidence we can straighten
     this out."
    "Thanks, Tommy," said Bobby.
    "I still say you didn't have to smack the kid," said Tommy. "That just isn't right. It's disrespectful. A few kids drinkin'
     . . . gettin' rowdy . . . That's still no reason."
    "One of the kids upstairs," began Bobby, "getting poked on the table? I recognized her. It was Christine Failla. She can't
     be more than fifteen."
    Bobby watched the color drain out of Tommy's face.
    "Paulie's kid?"
    "The same," said Bobby.
    "Minchia!!" hissed Tommy, screwing up his face in an expression of distate — and worry. "Jesus Cheerist! . . . I was at her
     first communion for fuck's sake!"
    Bobby shrugged and said nothing, content to let Tommy think things through now.
    "You sure it was her?"
    "Me and Eddie were at her confirmation. Out on the Island."
    "I missed that," said Tommy. "I was in AC that week. Jesus . . . Paulie's little girl. You're sure?"
    Bobby nodded gravely. "I saw that, I figured I hadda move fast. What am I gonna do? I can't tell anybody. Your nephew? I don't
     know who the fuck he is. Even if I did — mean, Tommy . . . What's Big Paul gonna say? He finds out his baby girl is gettin'
     porked onna dinner table in Eddie's club? A buncha drunken frat boys watchin' the whole thing? I don't think he'd be too happy."
    Tommy exhaled loudly and actually shuddered visibly. "You did the right thing, Bobby. You did what you hadda do. Where is
     that fucking nephew a mine — I'll give him a fuckin' beatin' myself . . ."
    Bobby smiled reassuringly. "Forget it. I cleared the club. Everything's cool."
    "Jesuss . . ." said Tommy. "Fifteen . . . Listen . . . This goes no further than this room. Nobody . . . and I mean nobody
     finds out. Paulie hears about this . . . even a hint . . . and I don't even want to think about it.
    "My nephew doesn't know, right?" said Tommy, standing up.
    "He doesn't know."
    "Good. He's a sweet kid — but he's got a mouth on him. His mother didn't hit him enough. That's the problem."
    "Kids today," said Bobby.
    "No shit."
    "So we're straight on this?"
    "Sure," said Tommy, making for the door. He stopped and shook Bobby's hand, warmly.
    "I'm in your debt."
    Later, Bobby stood in nearly ankle-deep litter on the empty dance floor, watching the bartenders break down and count out.
     He felt badly about besmirching the reputation of a fifteen-year-old girl who — as far as he knew, was safely tucked into
     bed with her stuffed toys somewhere out on Long Island — and could well have been all night. In truth, he hadn't seen Chrissie
     Failla since Eddie had pointed her out, years earlier, waiting for the pony ride at Eddie's kid's birthday party in Westchester.
     But it had been a necessary lie. Tommy V had put him, and Eddie, in a tough spot. Smack a made guy's nephew and people have
     to make hard decisions. Appearances have to be kept up. Allegiances affirmed and reaffirmed. Somebody somewhere sits down
     with a bunch of old men who aren't even close to the situation and then somebody has to get hurt.
    Bobby knew how that worked.
    And it wasn't going to happen here.
    Not this time anyway.

BOBBY EATS